


Tap Out

by BeBunny



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Held Down, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Orders, Power Play, Sparring, Verbal Command
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Coulson become sparring partners when it's clear Clint needs a new challenge. Clint is not prepared for the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tap Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сдавайся](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138385) by [Silmary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmary/pseuds/Silmary)



*Thunk*

The over-weighted tip makes a marked difference to the arrow’s arc. It isn’t a great deal to account for, but Clint had fired sixty or so already and was still having trouble getting a grip on their trajectory. He picks up one of the prototypes and twirls it in his fingers, feeling the gel inside the capsule throw off the arrow’s centre of balance as he does. He sighs, R&D are going to need to get a handle on this if he’s going to sign them of as field-ready. He marks down a few equations, complete with a doodle of the arrow as an anchor for a pirate ship. It isn’t nearly as bad as all that, but it might have been close. He notches another to his string and pulls back. 

“Agent Barton.” 

Clint lets the string relax, turning to answer.

“Sir?”

“How are you getting on?”

“Well Sir, they need a lot of work, there’s several suggestions I can make but the gooey liquid centre is really screwing with the balance. I’m not sure they’re good..”

Coulson holds up a hand to interrupt. “How are you getting on Barton?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been in four hours, no break, no change in activity.”

Clint flicks his eyes over to the clock above the range door. It really had been four hours. 

“Ah…Just enjoying my work.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

“So do something else.”

Clint runs his hand back over his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Not much else to do, Stark is remodelling the urban environment gym, I haven’t got any paperwork left, don’t look at me like that I swear it’s on your desk right now.” 

“There are gaps in your defence you could work on.” 

Clint raises an eyebrow, of course they all had weaknesses but this is the first time Coulson had shown any interest in addressing something specific. They were usually equipment based, and obvious, not much to do long range when you run out of arrows. Stark is apparently working on a custom repulsor rifle for him, but it will never be as fast or silent or accurate as his bow. He says as much.

“Not your offence Agent,” Coulson replies mildly, “your defence.” 

“My offence _is_ my defence Sir.” Clint says, “I thought you agreed.” 

“I’ve been reviewing footage of your assault on the helicarrier while under Loki’s influence.” 

“…Sir?” Clint’s tone is wary and he knows it. He, along with everyone else tends to skirt around discussing the events directly preceding the Chitauri attack on Manhattan unless absolutely necessary, even now. Coulson especially, it was out of character for him to bring it up at all. 

“While we are obviously relieved that Agent Romanov was able to bring you…to your senses…she was able to get a jump on you far too easily hand to hand.” 

“Sir! That was _Natasha!_ ” 

“Even so, you may find yourself at close quarters again, I believe you would benefit from more directed training, developing hand to hand defensive techniques.” 

“I’m trained in multiple hand to hand martial techniques, military grade and competition standard. I’ve never had a problem before.” 

“Before now.” 

“I have a decent chance against her when we spar, I always have.” 

Coulson nods, he’s reviewed the gym footage too, he must have, but he doesn’t look like he’s backing down on the issue at all. “You know each other too well now, you’re too evenly matched unless she’s playing dirty and since she knows your unhand tricks too it’s not bringing either of you anything new. You need a new sparring partner.” 

Clint mentally reviews his team. Steve and Thor are too strong, anything he learns from sparring against them is not what Coulson is referring to. He needs someone evenly matched in strength and skill. Tony might apply, he’s a good boxer but lacks training in anything more deadly without his suit. Coulson is right about Natasha, they do know each other too well now, their sparring has become more like dancing, perfunctory and all movement. Banner just isn’t an option. 

“Agent Forester?” he suggests. He’s not really committed to the suggestion, Forester is quick on his feet but relies too much on his opponents assumptions to outwit them. They aren’t a good match, Clint doesn’t like to make assumptions. 

“Me.” 

Clint actually does a double take. “You Sir?” 

“Why not?”

Clint doesn’t really have an answer for that, he’s seen Coulson in action, more than once. He’s mildly intimidated and more than a little curious. “I guess that might.. work.”

“Good then. Tomorrow?” 

Clint makes a grunt of non committal. “If you’re free.” 

Coulson doesn’t move to leave.

“Uh..Sir.” Clint adds. 

Coulson nods once, and exits the gym, swiping his card at the door. It’s not until he’s gone that Clint notices the sandwich and bottle of soda next to his notepad.

“Thank you Agent Coulson.” He says jauntily as he unscrews the bottle and takes a swig. It’s ice cold. 

~*~

It’s a little unnerving to see Coulson out of his suit. 

He looks so mild mannered standing at the edge of the mat in his sweatpants and faded grey t-shirt. There’s a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth though and Clint is anything but fooled. 

When he steps onto the mat Coulson follows him, they hadn’t set any particular objective for the session, just willing to play it by ear. When neither of them has made a move in three minutes, Clint decides to get things moving. 

Against all reason and very sure it’s a bad move Clint takes a swing at Coulson, his fist whistling into thin air as Coulson ducks away and behind, pulling on his arm to force more momentum from him. He spins away, disoriented. 

“What are you a hired goon?” Coulson says, “You’ve got more finesse than that.” 

“Yessir.” Clint says through his scowl. He’s going to need to approach this slightly differently, he knows it. He watches as Coulson circles him, how his footwork is a steady pattern of _step, step, cross_ He drops his shoulder, feigning a punch and sweeps his leg out instead as Coulson makes his cross step. It’s a good move, one he didn’t learn from any official program and one he doesn’t pull out in training very often. Coulson goes down rolling as he hits the mat and coming up into a crouch. He still only looks mildly amused, like someone just made a joke he doesn’t want to laugh at. 

“Nice move Barton.” 

“Thank you Sir, that’s a Barney barfight special.” 

“Got one or two of my own.” 

“No doubt.” 

Coulson makes a lunge, and Clint sees it coming, but rather than the space he had intended to move into Coulson is dodging in the opposite direction and there’s a bright flare of pain where his fist meets Clint’s jaw.

“Like that one.”

“Duly noted Sir.” Clint grits out. He pops his jaw and stretches it, he can feel a bruise, but Coulson hadn’t hit hard enough to crack bone or a tooth. He gets the impression he could have. “Are you pulling punches?”

“Might be.” 

The next lunge Clint is ready for. He sidesteps and smacks Coulson sharply on the back of the head. Rather than stopping to check the damage however Coulson rounds on him and sweeps back with one elbow, sending Clint reeling backwards as it connects with his sternum. Coulson’s on him in a second, struggling to get him in a hold. Clint manages to turn onto his front before Coulson truly gets him pinned, without much effort his superior has his forearms trapped against the small of his back and he’s straddling Clint’s thighs, gluing him to the floor. 

Clint twists, fighting back against the awkward angle his wrists are at. It doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, Coulson adjusts his weight against Clint’s strengths, leaning further over his back. He begins to feel a little closed in, and kicks out his legs, into nothing, Coulson is too far up his body. 

“Barton, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Coulson says, he tightens his grip on Clint’s wrists with one hand and the other comes up to Clint’s temple to press two fingers there. There’s no doubt at all what it means, it could have been a gun. He lets his forehead hit the mat with a thud, defeated. Coulson shifts his weight above him and _ohfuckno, don’t you dare!_

“Hey, what do you say Agent Barton.” Coulson says lightly, unaware of the effect he is having on Clint’s traitorous, treacherous body. 

“Let me up.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Just let me up Coulson.” Clint spits, and as soon as the pressure eases off his back and wrists he scrambles away from the mat like it’s hot. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs his bag and heads straight for the door but he knows Coulson is far too observant to have missed the very definite bulge in his sweatpants. _Fucking Fantastic._

~*~

When he gets the call to Fury’s office a few days later he knows what’s coming. Coulson’s too subtle to have said anything about the incident itself but when he stands to attention, eyes slightly off to the left of Fury’s shoulder he wonders just who Fury’s gonna pair him off with now Coulson wants out. He just hopes Coulson doesn’t leave the initiative altogether, it’s a good job for him. 

“You haven’t attended a training session in four days.” Fury says. 

“No Sir.” 

“Mind telling me what that’s about?”

“Yes Sir.” He doesn’t follow it up with anything and Fury just sighs and sinks down into the huge leather chair behind the desk. 

“I expect this kind of shit from Stark but you’re a SHIELD agent Barton, you know me better than that.”

Clint nods, and switches his gaze to the floor. 

“Are you bored? Because as much as I would like to send you out right now I have nothing suited to your skills, I would have thought you would have welcomed the distraction.” 

Clint sighs. _Here it comes._

“You will continue your training sessions as ordered Agent, is that clear?”

“Yes Sir, who should I report to?”

“Agent Coulson, don’t pretend you forgot, I know he didn’t hit you that hard.” 

_What?_ “Yes Sir.” Clint says, “today Sir?”

“Yes today, what you think I’m just gonna let you lay around here all day irritating my administration staff?”

“No Sir.”

“Damn right, you got ten minutes to be in that gym Barton. You’re dismissed.”

~*~

He feels like he’s on the walk of shame as he navigates the corridors to the gym. Coulson is there waiting for him, same mildly interested expression, same faded t-shirt. 

“Come in Barton.” 

Clint moves to stand in front of him, he knows his expression is defiant, daring Coulson to mention anything, it’s bordering on insubordination but he can’t help it. 

“We’ll be working on something more specific today,” Coulson says, Clint nods. “You’re going to have to try and break my holds.” 

“Yes S..what?”

“You didn’t hear me?” 

“I heard you Sir.” 

“Good, then on the mat Barton, face down.” 

_shitshitshit…motherfucking…_ “Yes Sir.” Clint says, he only glances at Coulson briefly on his way to the centre of the sparring area, he looks thoughtful, considering. 

He lowers himself down onto his front, placing his hands in the position they had been earlier in the week. He feels Coulson settle his weight over him and grip his wrists. Clint swallows and wills his body to stay calm, he thinks if he can avoid thrashing it won’t feel so much like being overcome, that perhaps his body won’t betray him so completely. 

“Ok, Don’t fight me so much this time, can you feel where my grip is weak?” 

Clint wriggles slightly and assesses his situation. He can’t do much about Coulson’s weight on his thighs but he can feel where Coulson’s thumb and forefinger join over his wrist, he doesn’t have much room to manoeuvre, but it just might be enough. He pulls against the grip towards his back, where Coulson’s grip is strongest and feels him shift to follow the movement, it’s the break he’s waiting for. He snaps his arms back in the other direction and his wrist slips though the weak link in Coulson’s fingers. With the use of his arms Clint knows his strength is back in play and he doesn’t waste any time, he lays his hands flat on the mat and shoves away, like a push-up and twists to the side, it dislodges Coulson’s weight and he’s suddenly free, both of them springing apart and rising to a crouch. 

“Good, nicely done.” Coulson says. “Much better.” 

Clint breathes deep, maybe he can do this, if he just stays focused on the training. Then it all falls apart again. 

“Alright Barton, back in the centre of the mat.” Clint does what he’s told, standing dead centre, waiting. “On your knees.” Coulson says and Clint frowns.

“Sir..I..”

“On your knees Agent.” Coulson repeats. There’s no malice in his voice, no inflection really, it’s just like every other order he’s ever given.

Clint sinks to his knees. 

“Not so hard was it?” Coulson says. “Hands behind your back.” 

Now Clint’s mind is going places he really isn’t sure of, he can feel his cock getting heavier, if not hard and he’s not sure how long he can keep up any pretence. “Really Sir I think…”

“You’re not here to think at the moment Barton,” Coulson says, “You’re here to do what I say.” 

Clint stays silent, but he doesn’t move. Coulson walks in a slow circle around him, and Clint feels exposed, it’s not like any usual inspection, there’s something here that Coulson is dancing around. He’s a difficult man to read but Clint is _used_ to seeing things. 

“You left training without authorisation on Tuesday.” Coulson says. It’s a statement, Clint can’t pick up any intention behind the words, but he’s already had this from Fury, which Coulson knows, and why the hell isn’t he standing to face a dressing down like any of the others he’s had. Unless Coulson is fucking with him, that hasn’t ever been his style though. 

“Yes Sir.” He replies, he registers that his tone is guarded and knows Coulson will pick up on it.

“You want to tell me about what happened?” Coulson says. 

“No Sir.” It’s the only answer he could give to that question.

“Thought so.” 

Coulson kneels behind him and suddenly there’s sharp pressure on both his wrists and the back of his neck. He feels himself being pushed forward until his forehead rests on the floor. Everywhere Coulson’s presence is warm and oppressive, he feel like he’s drowning in the desire to _stay._ He knows before Coulson even gives him the order to break the hold he doesn’t have the will to. 

“Break it.” 

Clint struggles, resulting in Coulson holding him tighter, fingers pressing into the tendons on the back of his neck. He knows he’s rock hard now, only vaguely thankful that his position shields his condition from Coulson’s view. He’s close to not caring.

“Break it.” The order comes again and Clint knows he’s panting against the floor, slick condensation gathering on the mat, prickling his skin when his cheek slides over it. He bucks his back up, trying to throw off Coulson’s weight, but he moves with it, pressing down again when Clint relaxes. 

“Break it.” 

“I can’t Sir.” Clint huffs.

The pressure is released but Clint doesn’t move, he gulps in several breaths and tries to slow his heart. 

“Kneel up Barton.” 

Clint does, feeling his sweatpants drag against his cock, tenting. 

“You can’t Agent? Or you won’t?” 

Clint honestly doesn’t know the answer. Coulson moves to stand in front of him and Clint realises with a shock that he feels right down to the pit of his stomach that Coulson is as turned on as he is. He keeps his eyes dead forward as Coulson paces in front of him. Clint watches the way his cock bounces a little as he walks. 

Coulson sighs and comes to a stop right in front of him. “I think it might be a little of both.” He says. “You can’t break a hold but you can follow orders. I’m not sure that’s a good combination.” 

Clint swallows. “I would never compromise…” He stops because he _has._ He has to find a way to come clean here, so many sparring sessions, so many wrestling matches, fights, scraps, not one of them had the effect on him that Coulson had, not without it having been on purpose. “I think it’s just you Sir.” 

Coulson laughs. “You think it’s because I _handle_ you?” Clint doesn’t miss the way Coulson stresses ‘handle’. He wrenches his mind into focus, trying to apply techniques like they taught him in SHIELD interrogation defence. 

“Could be Sir.” _Shit_ now he knows he’s flirting, without having made a conscious decision to do so. 

“Is that right?”

“Yes Sir.” The honorific term is starting to feel like chocolate in his mouth. 

“Interesting.” Coulson steps back a little, and the door comes into view. Clint knows the gesture for what it is, a way out. He doesn’t move. 

“Your order Sir?” He says.

Coulson steps in close to him and Clint only has to lean forward a fraction and he’s pressing his face into Coulson’s thigh. 

“Keep your hands behind your back until I say otherwise Agent.” Coulson says, and pushes his hips forward, dragging the soft fabric across Clint’s face. Clint wets his lips and then he’s there, pressing hot breaths into cotton and mouthing openly at Coulson’s cock through his sweatpants. He wants the use of his hands, wants to pull Coulson free of the constricting cloth and swallow him. There isn’t a herd of wild horses that’s going to make him break orders though and in the end, Coulson does it for him. 

Clint makes a soft noise of satisfaction as he tastes smooth flesh on his tongue. He relaxes and tries to take as much in as possible without steadying either his balance or Coulson’s with his hands. He groans again when he feels strong fingers in his hair, tugging and encouraging. He pulls against the grip slightly and is rewarded with a rougher touch. 

“I got you.” Coulson says. “Just do what you’re told.” 

Clint can’t argue with that, he swirls his tongue once more before psyching himself up. Willing his gag reflex to take a hike he tries to relax, inching Coulson further in and breathing hard through his nose. He feels a warm flush of accomplishment when his lips meet the downy hair at the base. 

“You’re good at that,” Coulson says, “But I think we’ll keep that particular talent out of your official file.” 

Clint tries to suppress the laugh but it’s too late and he has to pull back to avoid choking. Coulson lets him go, relaxing his grip in Clint's hair briefly. He runs the pad of his thumb over Clint's swollen bottom lip and takes himself in hand. Holding Clint’s head in place he jerks himself slowly and Clint watches the movements of his hand and makes a note of the way he tightens his grip at the head, sometimes twisting a little. When Coulson’s breathing deepens he swallows out of a sheer need to stop himself begging to touch. 

Coulson comes silently, pulling Clint’s mouth open with his thumb as he does, striping his tongue and cheek white. 

He moves surprisingly fast for a guy who should be recovering and before Clint can react he’s behind him, kneeling, shoving Clint forward into that grip again. He presses Clint’s face down into the mat and grabs one wrist. Clint realises a second later that he still has one hand free. 

“You have permission to touch yourself Agent.” Coulson whispers in his ear and Clint can’t get his hand under his waistband fast enough. He shucks his sweatpants as far down as he can get them with Coulson pressing down like that on his back, managing to get his knees a little further apart in the process. It doesn’t take him long to come, gasping and hips twitching as he paints the mat under them. 

Coulson holds him there for a moment, letting him catch his breath. “Clean that up Agent, you have have half an hour to shower and dress, then report to my office for a debrief.” 

Clint doesn’t attempt to hide how rough his voice is. 

“Yes Sir.” He croaks. 

~*~


End file.
